Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [129]
He found the drow sitting at the table peeling what appeared to be melted wax off her hands and arms. She looked him over from head to foot. Only then did Fyodor remember that he was naked except for his boots and the borrowed cloak. Her eyes registered what that meant. There had been a battle, one fierce enough to require transformation to berserker form.
"Gorlist?" she asked.
Fyodor nodded. "There are others, too. Undead drow, female warriors all, and a priestess with red eyes and a whip of undead snakes."
"Nice touch," Liriel muttered. "If that's who I think it is, you're not here because you managed to escape."
He told her the story in quick, lean words. "You must flee Rashe-men at once."
The drow dismissed this with an absent wave of one hand.
"I'll just give Shakti what she wants."
"Little raven, we can't know what forces they command!"
"Who said 'we'? I've faced Shakti before and defeated her. I can do it again." Her gaze dropped to her hands, and she flicked off a bit of wax.
"You are being arrogant."
Her eyes flashed to his face. "I have reason to be. I not only survived in Menzoberranzan but thrived. I have seen the worst life has to offer, and I'm more than a match for anything Shakti has in store."
He let out an exasperated sigh. "Do you say that because you believe it or because you think I'm stupid enough to?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Not very flattering."
"You know what I mean! If you are determined to go, I go with you."
He went over to the chest and dug out some clothes. He dressed quickly, and they stepped out into the night.
Beyond the door, Anya stood waiting for them, her staff pointed accusingly at the pair. Behind her stood a circle of witches. Anya stepped forward and with a twitch of deft fingers tore the mask from Liriel's belt. The drow's true appearance floated back like a dark tide.
"There is your 'witch of Shadowdale.' Now you know what she truly is," Anya said with cold fury. "You know what he is as well! I demand the penalty of death earned by all traitors to Rashemen!"
CHAPTER NINETEEN
yesterday's promises
“You are wrong," announced a musical, strangely hollow voice. "Here is the witch of Shadow-dale."
A pale glimmer appeared beside Liriel, spreading into a misty cloud then taking a familiar form-the tall, silver-haired woman whose face Liriel had worn since the battle of the watchtower.
The ghostly woman turned to Liriel's accuser. "Anya, daughter of Fraeni, your mother was my friend, and in her name I invoke the oath. All vows made in shared circles must be kept, all secrets hidden. The drow who claimed my name has been accepted among us by the witch who knew me best. Do you not think Zofia had good reason for this?"
The young witch's lips set in a tight line, and she sent a glare toward the old woman. The Othlor inclined her head in confirmation.
"I must do as you bid," Anya said grudgingly. "But we Rashemi have a proverb: What good can come of alliance with evil?"
"An excellent proverb, and an even better question," Sylune said. She rested a ghostly hand on Liriel's arm. "I have many questions about you. I will stay with you until I find answers. With Zofia Othlor's permission, of course."
"You will ever find a welcome here," the old woman said softly. "You have been too long away, my sister. You must find me much changed."
Musical laughter spilled from the spectral harper. "The dead do not age, dear Zofia, yet I suspect you would not change places with me."
"True enough, and truer now than in days past. It is no easy time to be a spirit in Rashemen," Zofia warned.
"Even so, I will not regret what comes of it. It will be good to see battle again," she said wistfully. She turned to Liriel. "Do you agree, drow?"
Liriel gave an ungracious shrug. "I'm none too happy about being haunted, but I suppose enduring a ghost is better than becoming one."
Fyodor looked to Zofia. "The witch of Shadowdale spoke of battle. Did Petyar bring the message?"
"And came with it," the boy said. He stepped from behind the hillock. His